This little girl lived in an orphanage in Kandahar, Afghanistan.
Her eyes, ringed with kohl, speak volumes about her short life.
Nepalese Hindu women rest at the Pashupatinath temple during Teej festival celebrations in Katmandu on Sept. 8, 2013. During the festival, married Hindu women observe day-long fast and pray for their husbands and a happy married life while those unmarried pray for a good husband.
[Credit : Niranjan Shrestha/AP]
a four year old iraqi girl is treated for a wounded eye by u.s. marines in central iraq on march 29, 2003. she was screaming for her dead mother, while her father, shot in a leg, begged to be freed from the plastic wrist cuffs slapped on him by u.s. marines so he could hug his other terrified daughter.
photo by Damir Sagolj
"Indian hindu devotees offer prayers to the sun in the arabian sea during the Chhath Festival, which is observed in the eastern and northern parts of india eight days after Diwali. The festiva pays homage to the sun and water gods for sustaining life on earth.”
A woman harvests vanda orchids from Hilo nursery fields in Hawaii, March 1975.
Photograph by Robert Madden, National Geographic
Alexander McQueen Spring 2004
"It takes a showman like Alexander McQueen to get the lifeblood pumping back into fashion performance. His show—staged in the Salle Wagram, a nineteenth-century Parisian dance hall—was an exuberantly hilarious reenactment of Sydney Pollack’s Depression-era film They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? Choreographed by Michael Clark over two weeks of intensive rehearsals in London, the narrative involved dancers, models, and audience in a visceral celebration of exquisitely glamorous clothes.
In the opening scene, the girls entered—dancing for all they were worth on the arms of muscle-bound sailors and hunky hopefuls—dressed in fishtailed silver lamé, figure-hugging cha-cha dresses, and show-stopping gowns with spangled bodices and huge feathered skirts. Other competitors whirled on wearing pink corseted tulle tutus over gray ballet sweats; mint satin tap-suits; or a slinky confection of gray checkerboard chiffon. A Billie Holiday look-alike, dramatically vamping in pink charmeuse and ostrich, vied for attention as flashy bodysuited showgirls were energetically twirled aloft by their partners.” // sarah mower
The Pop Diaspora of M.I.A
One of the most entertaining and frustrating things about being a fan of M.I.A has been watching white critics struggle to articulate her style while challenging her right to the aesthetic she cultivates. Artists of color aren’t often recognized for their sophistication or intent. Rather, they’re ascribed a “primitive rawness.”
With her synthesis of diverse but connected motifs M.I.A gets dubbed “cut and paste.” Words like “patchwork,” “slapped-together,” and “scotch tape” are regularly used, and that’s from positive reviews. American critics, unsure of the cacophony of identities and experiences M.I.A offers, commonly project their own uncertainties onto her.
The reception of her albums can be charted along her public perception, which took a hit in 2010. Her increasing success hadn’t changed the tone of her antiestablishment politics and the juxtaposition made scoffing at M.I.A as fashionable as dancing to Galang had been.
I wrote about Matangi Arulpragasam and the subaltern struggle.
He started out explaining that his mom was not ordinary, because she “listens to hip hop.” Then I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up.
“A graffiti artist,” he said.
“What’s the toughest part about being a graffiti artist?” I asked.
“Running from the cops,” said Mom.